


Know You're Not Alone

by Asauna



Series: Sherlock Drabbles [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Drabble, Druggie! Sherlock, Fluff, M/M, Med Student! John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asauna/pseuds/Asauna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medical Student John ran into Sherlock a few months ago, and since then has done everything in his power to try and help the other through his best and worst times. Sherlock keeps relapsing in his drug uses, knowing that each time it puts John's friendship at risk. But every time it happens, he realises he's wrong. Because John's here to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know You're Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on my phone, so excuse any typos. 
> 
> Just a short drabble inspired by a headcanon thanks to the Song, "Home" by Philip Phillips.

Why did Sherlock have to do this now? He had been doing so well. So why lapse now? Damn it! He wasn't in any of the usual spots John had found him in before, nor was he in the more well-known drug areas. This wasn't good. What if something had happened to the younger male? What if Sherlock had been stolen or worse? Johns chest wrenched and his throat dried up at those thoughts, cursing the weather as it had begun to rain. "Sherlock, please." He breathed out, darting all over the shady areas of London on foot, flashlight in hand. He had a big exam tomorrow, he didn't need this drama. John should have been able to go each day without worrying about Sherlock. He shouldn't be babying the young man that was capable of handling himself. But oh, that was just it. He wasn't. Despite his age, he did a piss poor job of taking care of himself. Perhaps that's why John made sure to be at Sherlocks’ side whenever he could? The med student turned another corner, barreling through an alley until the light of his torch touched over a familiar figure slouched against the wall. "Sherlock!" He said loudly, skidding on his knees as he came to the others side.

The poor sod looked beaten, blood trickling from his forehead, eye puffy with a forming bruise. But his pupils were blown wide, and a needle laid broken beside him on the wet ground. "Sherlock, you bloody idiot." John said as he carefully touched over the others face who was barely aware at the moment. A shaky breath came from him, his eyes touching over the worried face of the student. "John." He breathed out, sounding so very far away. "John, don't be angry. John, I can't help it. John." He breathed, voice weak and raspy. Oh, the student knew what was going on. Sherlock hadn't completely recognised him. It was as if he were a figment of the others imagination at the moment. "Sherlock.. I forgive you. You know that." John whispered, his voice trembling a small bit as he reached out to carefully curl his arms around the taller man, cradling his slender form against him. "I will always forgive you. But this needs to stop. Please." He begged gently, brows furrowing as he pressed his head into the others hair. Sherlock still rambled on weakly, asking John to forgive him and apologising for this. 

-

It took a while, an understanding cabbie and a drugged up Sherlock to get the other back into their flat. A small, shabby place. Two tiny bedrooms, a small kitchen and limited living space. But it was enough for them both. He took Sherlock to the bathroom and set him upon the toilet, stripping him down and drying him off before tending to the wounds and injuries he'd given himself. Even now he was uttering weakly, still talking about senseless things with an apology slipped in. John had stripped down to his own pants to dry off as he'd been sopping wet, before taking Sherlock to the living room and settling him into their couch. The med student was careful with all of his movements in case Sherlock would pass out at any moment, offering soft and hushed words of reassurance, aiding the other along. He'd promised Sherlock at the beginning of all of this that he would always be here. He promised he'd watch him and make sure he did the right thing. Sometimes this happened and there was nothing he could do to stop it. So he had to just go along and aid Sherlock through. 

Once the black haired male was sturdy on the couch, John went to the fireplace and started a fire to keep them warm before darting off to his bedroom and fetching a quilt. When he'd returned, nothing had changed. Sherlock was still there at the edge of consciousness, whispering to himself. So after a bit of moving about, the student found himself sprawled out upon the couch, a pillow beneath his head and Sherlock using his own chest as a cushion with the blanket atop them. Sherlock had stopped talking, as John had begun whispering to him. His words were always gentle and reassuring, reminding Sherlock that he was never alone. and that John cared about him. And that he did matter. And as he finished that, he began to speak of little stories. Sometimes real, sometimes fake as his fingers stroked through Sherlock’s’ hair, making sure he kept talking until the other had finally passed out, gently clutching onto him. He allowed himself to doze after that, still holding onto the other. Sherlock had no idea what he meant to the future doctor. And he kept trying to show him in the least invasive ways, even if they were through soft and tiny gestures. 

-

And as with each time this happened, Sherlock groaned weakly in the morning, feeling as if he'd been hit by a truck. But oh, those fingers were so familiar, placed gently against his Bare skin. His eyes fluttered open and he found the couch, tilting his head back to see the older man who must have carried him home and undressed him. Just like last time. And the time before that. Why John kept trying for him was beyond his ability to understand. But he sighed softly and closed his eyes again, gently resting a hand on John's side, stroking over the warm skin. He was lucky, and so very thankful that he had someone just as stubborn as he was. And he was a fool to keep putting the other through this. But it always went farther than he had expected, no matter what precautions he took. "Thank you." He breathed out weakly, a sad frown upon his lips as he pressed his cheek more into John's fuzzed chest. He was fond of the bit of hair, and did hope the other never got rid of it. A defining trait, one could say. Sherlock was glad he'd been so lucky with John. He'd be dead, otherwise. "I owe you so much." He whispered out and relaxed a little more. Perhaps he could just.. Lay here. Until John woke. That would be nice.


End file.
